Room at the Inn for Christmas

by Mary Connealy

  Cart pulled a screwdriver out of a fabric loop on his blue jeans and hunkered down to get to work.

  Chapter Five

  “I used to hold the flashlight for Dad.” She’d stood beside her father while he repaired things down here. She’d loved working with him on the house and with Mom in the kitchen. Her future had always been here at the inn . . . until it wasn’t.

  Cart looked over his shoulder at her. “You mean when he fixed the water heater?”

  “Yes, or replaced a fuse or tinkered with the boiler. We only had a couple of lightbulbs down here then. And fuses that screwed in. In fact, what happened to the fuse box?”

  “When we rewired the house, we went to breaker switches instead of fuses and moved it up to the kitchen pantry.”

  “Another expensive update.” Mandy should just let it go; there was nothing to be done about it now. But it hurt. “Why didn’t Dad want me home? I always thought he loved me, but now—” Her voice broke.

  Cart rose from his work and turned to face her.

  A hard shake of her head steadied her. “Sorry, it’s not important. I still cry for him now and then. It’s hard to have both of my parents gone. It’s a very lonely feeling. And now, trying to figure out why Dad didn’t want me here. Especially as he got older. Running this place—” She couldn’t say more because the tears could not be stopped.

  Cart handed her a clean white handkerchief, then slid his arms around her and pulled her close and let her cry. She hadn’t had any human contact for so long until Angel and Cart. Dad was the last of her family, and he hadn’t been a hugger.

  Now Cart held her close. His arms and his kind words kept her warm and safe in a big, cold world. It felt so good to not grieve alone. Finally, it seemed as if the worst of her pain had washed away on the flood of saltwater tears. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then rested her achy head on his shoulder.

  “Mandy, I can’t tell you what he was thinking, but last night, at home, I got to wondering if—if it’s all got something to do with . . . me.”

  That cleared her tear-muddled brain enough so she lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Because he told me you were married?”

  “Did he really say that?” Cart shook his head.

  “I’ve tried to think what he actually said. I think it was at—there was a parents’ day at college, a month or so before graduation. He came and, well, Dad wasn’t much of a talker, you know.”

  “True enough, unless he was talking about the Seahawks or the Mariners.”

  “Yeah, typical man, he talked about sports but not about how he felt.”

  “Well, who can blame him for that?” Cart shuddered.

  Mandy pinched him.

  He pulled her closer. “Just rest against me for a minute.”

  She did because she couldn’t resist.

  “I said I was coming home. I just made some passing comment, no big deal. I’d always planned to. And that’s when he, well, he shocked me by saying I should be hunting work. The inn was struggling. I know he said it made enough for him to get by, but not to support both of us. He said those exact words.”

  “And that’s when he talked about me?” Cart asked.

  “I can’t remember just what he said. Something like, ‘Cart’s finally settling down with a good woman.’ Something like that. Not a big announcement, more like he tossed it into the general talk. And I was so stunned about not coming home that we mainly discussed that. I had my whole life figured out, and he pulled the rug out from under me. All of a sudden, I needed job interviews and to get a résumé together. I needed to be thinking about rent when I’d never considered anywhere but here to be home. I needed a business suit for the job hunt. My head was spinning. Then you, well, my best friend was gone, too.”

  “And you never questioned that you weren’t invited to the wedding? You never asked your dad about me?”

  Mandy eased away and looked down at her toes and was silent for too long. Finally, she said, “I’d better get back to the kitchen. Angel might need—”

  Cart lifted her chin until she had to look at him. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

  The kiss was the answer to a thousand wishes that she’d long ago given up on. He’d kissed her a few times long ago. Just enough that Mandy had pinned her future on Anthony Carter. She really believed he’d held back to give her the chance to go to college before they began a future together. And then Dad not wanting her, and telling her Cart was married . . . it had been twin blows that knocked her into a whole different life.

  The kiss ended, followed by smaller, slower kisses, sweeter. At last he said, “Why didn’t you ever come back?” He ran strong hands up and down her arms. “That would have cleared things up. But you’ve never been home, not once since the Christmas before you graduated.”

  “Dad never invited me.” She shrugged and felt his touch. She wanted it to last.

  “A girl doesn’t need an invitation to come home.”

  “I know that.” Impatiently, feeling like he was blaming her, she brushed his hands away and slid sideways so he didn’t have her pinned so close to the wall. “But I did tell him I was coming, several times, and he’d say he wanted to come to me instead. He did it every time, until I just quit planning trips and instead I’d tell him I missed him and we needed to get together. That was so obviously what he wanted. I had this whole image in my head of the inn getting shabby, needing paint. I make decent money; I asked him a couple of times if he needed any.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “He’d act embarrassed, tell me to keep my money, he was getting by okay.”

  Cart shook his head.

  “I traveled a lot for work, and he met me if I got close enough, Seattle, Portland; he even drove to San Francisco a couple of times and flew out to Denver to meet me once. And he’d come to my place in Los Angeles for holidays.”

  “We missed him here. No one to run the place during Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter. But a man gets his holidays, especially when his only child refuses to come here to see him.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  A small, sad smile curved Cart’s lips. “No, he never spoke a word against you. That’s what I figured must be true. You’d moved on from the Star Inn and Heywood and were a big-city woman now. If your small-town father wanted to be in your life, it was up to him to make the effort.”

  “You must have hated me.”

  Cart pulled her against him again and lowered his head to kiss her again. When the kiss ended, he asked, “Does that feel like hate?”

  “I mean back then. Back when I decided not to come home.”

  With a start, his vision seemed to clear and he stepped back as if he were burned by touching her.

  The change was so unexpected, Mandy felt a little dizzy. She stepped sideways until her hand rested on the wall. In this tight little room that didn’t take much.

  He gave his head a fierce shake, then turned and crouched, going back to work. “Not hate. I just thought we were friends, and I got a really loud wake-up call. Don’t trust a woman with her eyes on the big prize.”

  “Not trust me? None of this was my fault. And if that’s how you feel, then just what was that before when you kissed me?”

  “You never tried to see me. You chose the city life and the big-paying job over a little town and a humble job and an old friend. I didn’t like the decision, but I didn’t see much chance of changing your mind, not if you didn’t care about the inn . . . or me . . . enough to come home and say good-bye.” Cart was obviously going to ignore her last question.

  “I told you, Dad didn’t let me.” Mandy crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly wishing she could have just one more second of comfort and warmth in his arms and not this sudden combat situation they were in now.

  “Does he control every highway into town? Was he able to block your purchase of plane tickets and rental cars? No, you believed him because you wanted to.” He picked up a screwdriver and b
egan removing a plate on the side of the heater.

  Tired, confused and unbearably sad, Mandy stared at him as if she could find the right answer in the line of his tense back. “I tried. I said I—”

  “I know exactly why your father told you I was married or involved, whatever it was he said. He was afraid we were more than friends, and he didn’t want that. He saw this inn as a trap you needed to escape. I guess he saw me as a part of that trap.”

  Looking away from her as if the sight of a water heater fascinated him, Cart said with cold finality, “A man with any sense would remember that. How glad you were to run. And trust me, Mandy, I’ve got a whole lot of sense.”

  His focus on his repairs was so complete, she didn’t think he noticed when she left. She’d thought crying out her grief had brought some healing, but all it’d done was leave her fragile and far too vulnerable.

  And while she was opening her heart to him, he’d done a lot of damage with a few cruel words. The trouble was, she was starting to wonder if maybe she deserved every one of them. Had she used her hurt as an excuse? Had she let her father push her away, because she wanted to run? Maybe that was why her father had told her to stay away; maybe he knew she didn’t deserve the inn, or a fine man like Anthony Carter.

  Never had she been more determined to sell this place and get back to her real life.

  Chapter Six

  Cart’s unkindness had thrown her into some kind of spin. The day went by and she couldn’t pull out of it.

  This morning she’d felt the strong lure of the inn and home. Now it was gone as if it’d never been and all she could think of was her ticket home on Saturday.

  She checked her phone compulsively and responded to a steady stream of office e-mails. She was needed back there. For a while this morning she’d begun to believe this life held a stronger meaning to her and would offer a quality of life she couldn’t get in the city. But now all she wanted to do was pull back, find a much more impersonal job and work hard.

  And then she went to help get ready for tea.

  Swinging the kitchen door open, Mandy stumbled to a halt. “What are you working on?” But she knew.

  Angel smiled as she turned off the dough hook on the heavy-duty mixer. “I’m making the inn’s special Christmas cinnamon rolls for tea. And enough left over I can take some to the community Christmas dinner tonight. Toby’s here to help.”

  The little boy looked up and grinned at Mandy, then went back to working with a mini ice-cream scoop, plopping cookie dough studded with red and green M&M’s onto a baking sheet, then garnishing each cookie with four more candies. The kid was snitching way too many of them, but Mandy decided it was Angel’s job to catch him and stop him and maybe she didn’t want to. It was Christmastime after all.

  The room smelled of warmth and yeast, chocolate and pastry. It was a smell that cried of home, to Mandy.

  Bing Crosby sang “White Christmas” quietly in the background.

  “Heywood still has a feast for the whole town on Christmas Eve . . . Eve?”

  Angel laughed. “Yes, on the twenty-third of December. Tonight. The tradition lives on.”

  Angel lifted the stainless-steel mixing bowl full of dough and with a loud thump set it on the large butcher-block counter that stood in the center of the kitchen and was used as a work surface. Turning the contents of her bowl out on the table, Mandy watched the smooth dough stretch slowly out as Angel helped it along.

  Mandy saw the bags of cinnamon candies on the countertop. “And you’re using Red Hots?” The inn’s special cinnamon rolls had been the most beautiful treat Mandy knew as a child. Delicious, too, of course. Mom and Angel never settled for less than beautiful and delicious, both. But the unexpected red stripe in the white dough always made Mandy think of candy canes and the North Pole and Santa Claus coming to town.

  There were very few recipes used in the Star Inn kitchen that hadn’t been given a special twist. Mom and Angel had believed the treats needed to be unique to lure in guests. So they’d invented new recipes and played with old ones to make them their own.

  A syrup made with Red Hots in place of the usual cinnamon, and white sugar instead of brown to keep the color bright red.

  Mandy’s mouth watered as she thought of it.

  “How many are you planning to take this year?”

  “I promised five dozen rolls. This batch of dough is big enough to make more than that.”

  Mandy felt the smile spread across her face. It had been sadly lacking today. “Does that mean there’s enough for tea and breakfast and at least one I can eat the second it comes out of the oven, before it has a chance to cool?”

  “That’s exactly what it means.” Angel’s eyes sparked with good humor.

  “I’ll do the rolling if you want to get the syrup ready.” Mandy wasn’t afraid to jump in on any of these special recipes. “Then I can roll and cut while you prepare the pans.”

  “And then you can come to the Community Dinner with Toby and me.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that, Angel, but I can stay here and handle serving tea and clean up afterward; then you can head to City Hall as soon as we’re done cooking.”

  Angel gave her a sad smile. “All right. It’s your decision.”

  Cart pushed his way into the kitchen, white plastic grocery bags dangling from his fingers. “I got the fruitcakes. I’ll unwrap them and slice, then haul them and everything else you’ve got to City Hall.”

  Where the huge reception room had already been beautifully decorated . . . Mandy didn’t know that for sure, but she’d be really surprised if she wasn’t right.

  He saw her and came to a sudden stop. He looked stunned. “You’re helping?”

  She’d been helping all day. Honestly, the man managed to hurt her feelings almost every time he opened his mouth. He shouldn’t have the power to do that, but she felt every word he spoke so deeply.

  She really ought to try to have one honest, unemotional talk with the man before she left here forever. They’d once been really good friends.

  For now, she’d put him to work. “Yes, I’m helping. Toby’s filling cookie sheets. There are three pans in the oven right now baking.”

  Mandy glanced at the big oven with multiple narrow racks so they could bake many things at once, especially sheets of cookies or pans of cinnamon rolls.

  “Watch Toby while you’re slicing fruitcake; handle the oven. The rolls need time to rise, so you can get the fruitcakes sliced while we get the cinnamon rolls ready and the cookies baked. It’ll all work perfectly.”

  Cart strode toward the oven just as a buzzer went off. “I timed that just right.”

  The bustling activity in the inn soothed the last of Mandy’s tension. “There aren’t too many staying for tea. Most are going to the Heywood Community Dinner. But there’ll be three or four couples. I’ll watch over them.”

  Angel looked like she wanted to protest, but she clamped her mouth shut. Cart was busy, so maybe he hadn’t heard about her skipping the dinner or didn’t care.

  Mandy concentrated on her cooking. She cut the dough in big sections with ruthless slices of her razor-sharp knife. She set all the balls of dough aside but one and went to work, the marble rolling pin flattening it with smooth strokes.

  The dough stretched and was ready when Angel came with the first pan of red syrup, slightly cooled by setting the pan in an ice-water bath and whipping the syrup. Mandy spread the syrup and smoothed it with the back of a spoon; then she rolled up the dough, pinched the edges and sliced, amazed at how it all came back to her.

  Around her the cookies came out of the oven and new ones went in.

  Toby scooping.

  Angel adding sugar and butter and other ingredients to her long, low-sided pans that would soon be loaded up with cinnamon rolls.

  Cart switched the cookie sheets and worked on the only truly delicious fruitcakes Mandy had ever tasted. Angel always made it far ahead so it could age perfectly.

&nbs
p; Mandy discovered all of the kitchen skills learned at her mom’s knee—and honed at Angel’s—were still there. She loaded pans and covered them with a kitchen towel to rise, then worked the dough to prepare a second batch of sweet rolls. She lost herself in the pleasure of it.

  Finally, completely absorbed in the cooking, she placed the last spiral of dough in the pan. Each large pan, made for sheet cakes but perfect for this, held thirty rolls. Ninety rolls. They were taking five dozen of them to the dinner. That left plenty here for tea and breakfast, a special Christmas treat for their guests.

  With enough she could eat one warm from the oven. Another Christmas tradition. Mom had always made sure the cooks were fed.

  The cinnamon rolls came out of the oven and were boxed up to haul away. Angel took Toby to her rooms to get both of them cleaned up for dinner.

  Cart saw Mandy getting the tea ready. “Aren’t you coming to the dinner?”

  His voice held a cool reserve that reminded Mandy of how he’d hurt her this morning. How she’d felt her heart opening to him and he’d rejected her.

  Doing her best to protect herself from any more pain, she said, “No. I’m not interested in socializing around town.”

  His lips curled down into a frown. “I’m not surprised.” Without another word, he left with the sliced fruitcake, dozens of cookies and the rolls.

  Mandy served the afternoon tea and visited with guests. She’d been, she sincerely hoped, friendly and gracious, but she’d done it all without letting anything touch her.

  In fact, she was still trying to ignore the pain of his words as she cleaned up after tea and set up what was needed for breakfast. She was glad Angel and Toby were gone. And glad Cart had left and would almost for sure go straight out to his ranch after the dinner. She didn’t want to see anyone and try to be friendly right now.

  She took a few minutes to make herself a turkey sandwich and grab a diet cola, then headed for her own apartment.